


Between War and Tenderness

by Megane



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bonding, Complimenting, Encouragement, Established Relationship, Fictional Religion & Theology, Hair Braiding, Hesitation, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Philosophy, Romance, Subtle Intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:39:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4810013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megane/pseuds/Megane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a quiet morning; the weather is favourable, but Libra decides to spend his time with Lon'qu and a nice book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between War and Tenderness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sheepskin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheepskin/gifts).



> I'm not sure how I feel about this title, to be honest. I've been battling this for some time, and now I'm getting some weird Jane Austen feel. Either way, this was a surprise gift for my friend – my constant Fire Emblem muse.
> 
> I didn't get any writing done until about midnight, so this is what we must suffer through. Enjoy this semi-conscious rambling of literature.

          “You're surprisingly dexterous,” Libra complimented.

          A scoff came as an immediate answer. “Did you think me a sword wielding brute?”

          “Well.”

The word came out in a singsong tone, denoting Libra's playfulness. Lon'qu hummed out a laugh. The sound rolled through his chest, and Libra could feel it against his back. He smiled softly and turned his gaze down to the small book underneath his hands. Robin had found it on the battlefield after a rigorous skirmish with Risen. The tactician handed it over to Libra, assuming that it would be amongst the cleric's interests. And he wasn't wrong. Flattered, the war monk took the book gladly, though he only now found the time to read it.

Now, of course, with Lon'qu's fingers threading his hair together in a series of plaits. Libra pressed his palm down against the center of the book, forcing its pages to stay open. He let out a content sigh and tipped his head down to the scribbling. His fringe fell long in front of his eyes. The cleric reached a hand up and toyed with the long locks.

          “You're in need of a cut,” Lon'qu stated as if taking the words from Libra's mind.

          “Perhaps another time,” Libra sighed out.

          “Are you sure?” Lon'qu's hands stilled mid-braid. “It would be a simple matter.”

          Libra paused. “We'll see,” was his response after a beat of silence.

          “Mmn.”

Lon'qu hummed but easily resumed his task. At Libra's request, they were sitting near the windows in the cleric's room. Libra debated about sitting outside, seeing how nice the whether had been, especially the past couple of days. Ultimately, he ended up choosing to stay inside, desiring the familiarity of his bunk. Lon'qu's company was welcome, requested even. Having Libra personally beckon for him was a pleasant step in their relationship. Lon'qu admired the progress and gave Libra the grace of not pointing it out.

          “What is that book you're reading?” He finally asked, watching his fingers spider through three locks of hair.

          “Apparently, some handwritten ideations about Naga's philosophies.”

          There was a heavy silence. “… Interesting.”

          Libra chuckled and lifted a hand to flip a page. “Here, I'll read you one:

_For it is not with Naga, we find ourselves_

_We bear Her light, Her goodness, and we radiate our own paths._  
_I cannot contest this thought as I've known without doubt_  
_That she is my beacon on my darkest days_

 _And my love in my lightest._ ”

Libra flipped the page, and Lon'qu listened. He wasn't a believer by any extent, but he liked to listen to the way Libra spoke. The cleric always held a fondness in his voice whenever he spoke of his faith. Despite their past conversations, Lon'qu honestly believed that there was some part of Libra that deeply enjoyed, or even believed, in the light of Naga. That part walked the path, despite the self-doubt and second guesses. Lon'qu found that amazing, even though he could never, truly say that out loud. Maybe he feared tripping over his own words, or he feared sounding presumptuous. Either way, he secretly admired Libra's reverence. With a sigh, he canted his head the other way, and Libra continued speaking.

 _“Battle? In Naga's name? For Naga's honour? She has no use for these things._  
_Battle is a mortal man's game._

 _For blood, for wealth, for name alone, we defend these things._  
_For Naga, we create peace._  
_For Naga, we endure strife._

 _But regardless of what we do for Her,_  
_She will only be honoured by the good and justice we do for ourselves.”_

          “Do you believe this?” Lon'qu asked, his voice a low, distracted murmur.

          Libra flipped a page, skipping a few verses. “Maybe…”

The silence was heavy, however brief it was. Lon'qu gently tilted Libra's head forward as he affixed the hairstyle. Libra felt the firm tugs to his scalp as Lon'qu situated his hair into a style. Something Feroxi, but not quite traditional, Lon'qu had put it. Libra decided to just let it go. At this point, he trusted Lon'qu's rare assertions of style. It was a type of bonding. This was how Libra could experience his culture. There was much outside of fighting, and though Lon'qu hadn't sold himself to that life for very long, it was still a solid part of him. Libra wanted to respect that.

Lon'qu lowered his hands to Libra's shoulders, and the cleric sat up. He pursed his lips slightly as he read over a new passage. He hardly noticed when Lon'qu stepped around to his front, making sure the hairstyle was presentable. The next few passages were written on tattered pages, all with a hasty hand. The writer struggled with his identity in the eyes of Naga and how he felt damned by his humanity — if he was a weakness and such on. Without realising it, Libra bit down on his lip, and his brows furrowed worriedly. He started when a hand touched his cheek.

          “Are you alright?”

          “Y, yes.” Libra blinked and his eyes unfocused briefly.

He moved stiffly, staring at but also through Lon'qu as he closed the book and stuffed it under his thigh. He placed his hands over his leg and blinked, finally making eye contact with the swordsman again.

          “I just read something strange. Not a bother though,” he continued.

          Lon'qu hummed. “Well, it is done.”

          “Is it? Can I see it?”

          “You may.”

Lon'qu motioned his hand, and Libra stood to head over to the scattered trays of silver. They were already in the bunk when he moved into it. He felt no need to disturb their place; he just lived around them. He picked up a smaller piece, framed glass, and examined his hair in the reflection. Lon'qu sat himself down on the window's edge and glanced down to the book on the wooden sill. Out of curiosity, he picked it up and flipped through. He caught a few poetic phrases mingled in with longer, passionate statements in jagged scrawl. His lips curled up to one side, skimming and appreciating the differences in tone. One mind but many facets. He liked this.

          “It's wonderful,” Libra stated, voice airy as always. “Both my hair and the book.”

          “Ah,” Lon'qu responded, thankful for the clarification. “I quite like both myself.”

Libra reached up and touched the unbraided locks of hair hanging in front of his ears. He wasn't sure how he would be able to take it down in later days and questioned Lon'qu on its wear.

          “It will loosen in a few days,” he assured, making room for Libra in the window. “Perhaps quicker if you sleep wildly.”

          “I'd like to think I'm a rather still sleeper,” Libra stated, a smile curling his lips.

          “I wouldn't know.”

The words matched the playfulness, which only added an innuendo he didn't mean to drop. He stammered, thinking to correct himself, but Libra only laughed through their shared bashfulness. He reached out to touch Lon'qu on the leg, and there was only a moment's hesitation before he did so. Lon'qu's hand settled on his own, and the cleric sighed through his nose. He relaxed just barely.

          “It's an interesting book,” Lon'qu stated, rubbing his thumb against the back of Libra's hand. “I think you should write your own.”

          “I don't think it would be possible.” Libra gave a small shake of his head. “I couldn't.”

          “You could.” Lon'qu stared down at the floorboards. “You have rage; you have passion.”

          “That writer…” Libra faltered. “He lacked the former.”

          “I doubt it.” The Myrmidon laughed softly. “I skimmed a bit.”

          “I see.”

They fell into a silence that danced between comfortable and heavy. Lon'qu's fingers twitched over Libra's before he gave the other fighter's hand a squeeze. Libra blinked and glanced over to him, seeing the slight concentration on his face.

          “You can do it,” Lon'qu encouraged finally. His cheeks gained a bit of colour to them. “If there's anyone whose soul I would read between pressed pages, it… would be yours.”

Libra found himself flattered beyond what words could express. Sure, Lon'qu was no master of poetry himself, but his words meant something. They had a subtle sense of power to them. Libra pulled himself out of his dazed state long enough to adore the dusty red on Lon'qu's cheeks. There was a small moment of thought, and he drew himself closer to Lon'qu. He leaned over, pressing a firm but short kiss to the man's warm cheek. As he drew away, he spoke softly into Lonqu's ear.

          “Thank you.” And that was it.

It was enough to draw Lon'qu's attention again. The brunet was still trying to get over his moment of purple prose, and Libra… found it adorable. He smiled a bit and tipped his head away. Lon'qu observed Libra, admiring the picture he was painting of himself. And he hardly knew it. There was so much beauty in this man. Lon'qu wondered what words would spill from Libra's mind if he allowed himself the freedom.

Libra looked down between their bodies and pulled up the book from its resting place. He scurtinised the dirt worn, war trodden cover and brushed his fingers over it.

          “I feel as though this cover alone speaks more volumes than I ever could,” the cleric began, eyes hooding and chin lifting a little. He turned his head towards Lon'qu, a small smile on his face. “But I suppose I could rise to the challenge.”

          “I'm sure you'll do well.”

They shared a low laugh. Libra lowered the book down onto his thighs, staring down at it before tilting his head towards the brunet again.

          “Or so you've convinced me.”

When Libra lifted his gaze, their eyes locked, and the air was thick with something unidentifiable. Whatever it was, it was meaningful. Lon'qu's lips quirked up in one corner, and he decided to bridge the gap between their bodies. Libra closed his eyes expectantly and sighed softly through his nose when their lips touched. His thumbs brushed over the small, beaten book and felt a connection.

With it and the man here in his room.

 


End file.
